"You're different to-day."

"Yes, I am." She looked across the valley toward the westering sun, and
the slight flush faded from her cheeks. "I have no right to hold my head
proud. No one knows who I am--where I came from."

"As if that made any difference!" he exclaimed.

"Belllounds is not my dad. I have no dad. I was a waif. They found me in
the woods--a baby--lost among the flowers. Columbine Belllounds I've
always been. But that is not my name. No one can tell what my name
really is."

"I knew your story years ago, Columbine," he replied, earnestly.
"Everybody knows. Old Bill ought to have told you long before this. But
he loves you. So does--everybody. You must not let this knowledge sadden
you.... I'm sorry you've never known a mother or a sister. Why, I could
tell you of many orphans who--whose stories were different."

"You don't understand. I've been happy. I've not longed for any--any one
except a mother. It's only--"

"What don't I understand?"

"I've not told you all."

"No? Well, go on," he said, slowly.

Meaning of the hesitation and the restraint that had obstructed her